


Welcome Me Home

by Once a Bard (bossyluigi)



Category: Fruits Basket, Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga)
Genre: Other, and i won't force anyone to accept it, before you say anything, but it's here if you want it, i've been sitting on this obscure ship for upwards of 12-13 years, it's built on hypotheticals but i'm okay with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossyluigi/pseuds/Once%20a%20Bard
Summary: (Note: This drabble is written in an AU where Haru is the last to break his curse because he has a harsh falling out with Rin and she leaves the Mainhouse before his curse is broken)It's been twelve years since Hatsuharu first knelt before Akito. He never anticipated returning to Mainhouse, let alone the last Jyuunishi to hold onto their curse. Perhaps it was because he wanted to ensure everyone's freedom before his own, but it left him with thin albeit strong ties refusing to let him go so soon.Is this trip home a final goodbye or a reminder that he was never destined for them?
Relationships: Sohma Akito & Sohma Hatsuharu, Sohma Akito/Sohma Hatsuharu
Kudos: 2





	Welcome Me Home

It’s a feeling he’s felt before— as a child. 

Seated alone on a red velvet cushion, yakata tucked politely under him as he kneels; small, socked feet curl into one another— he’s pathetic. 

The kiss of a summer breeze catches him on the cheek the moment doors seemingly pry themselves open— and he’s back again, some twelve years later, how ironic, subconsciously knelt in one of many hallways within the main house of the Sohma Estate. It’s the first time returning there since… It's not his first time revisiting those memories, though. Every evening, closing his eyes brings those same feelings, those same smells, those same words to mind. Even in his waking moments, the whispers of voices from the shadows, the caress of sickly hands around his neck, flashes of black before lapses in time altogether, it was enough to drive him back to beg for forgiveness. 

Once again, as the doors are opened and he’s ushered inside, a brush of air against his skin while otherwise would’ve sparked his defenses, leaves him perfectly content instead. 

Is this what death felt like? 

There's a moment of tension before release. What might’ve been frightening originally seems comforting in a sense.

Past wrongdoings, past joys, past sorrows, they don’t matter much anymore. The metaphorical blank slate sits as a cover to the room as a whole— a rebirth, a restart, an acceptance that who he was is no longer who he’s choosing to become.  
  
It’s who he was meant to be, at least, according to stories and legends. 

Once more, he kneels, the velvet beneath him worn and discolored from use. The sensation of the fabric had long since been rubbed away and left him with a flattened sack to rest himself on. Shadows amidst the blinding light of the mid-morning sun take the form of a shape, bathed in darkness from head to foot, voice breaking with every amused quip— like a specter, the figure approaches. 

With inhuman grace arms outstretch to curl about his head, drawing him into the folds of ancient robes. He meets with a musty fabric that’s been washed a thousand times and clung to countless bodies throughout the Sohma bloodline, reaching back to god knows when, but now, it welcomed him home. The warnings of the outside world had been washed away with a single embrace. The mistakes of stepping beyond the main gate, meeting those beyond the estate walls, daring to fall in love, marry, and father children— now, those were things he wouldn’t think twice about tossing to the wind. 

Cold, slender fingers drag down his cheeks, settling and easing his gaze to meet those of dark voids peering down upon him from the metaphorical throne his god sat upon. 

Suddenly, he’s reaching back, clinging to robes as if they were a life source. Fingers dig into the shadows, pulling the darkness into a corporeal form to bury himself into. Like a child, he finds himself begging forgiveness in one of the only ways he can think, and it’s returned with a kiss atop mused salted locks.

“You are… home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have to say, I really love analyzing the relationship between Akito and Hatsuharu. It's not really a romantic one, but that doesn't mean that there can't be some form of intimacy attached. For 12-13 years, I've been thinking about the complexities of Hatsuharu's place in the Jyuunishi. The Ox wasn't technically the first, but without being used by the Rat, they could have been. I often wonder if that plays into Haru's connection to Akito.


End file.
